


The Devil Wears Pelts

by Anzie (anzie)



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alternate Universe - 101 Dalmations, Alternate Universe - Devil Wears Prada Fusion, Author knows next to nothing about magazine creation, Fashion AU, Fluff, Fluff and Crack, M/M, Magazine AU, Vicchan Lives, Victor Nikiforov is Extra, no poodles were injured in the making of this fic, what did i just do
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-08
Updated: 2017-11-08
Packaged: 2019-01-31 00:50:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,322
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12664902
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anzie/pseuds/Anzie
Summary: “Yuuri, this is Viktor Nikiforov.” There’s a shit-eating grin on her face, and Viktor wondered, briefly, how much time he’d have to serve if he’d strangled her and claimed self-defense. Maybe Yurio could help him hide the body.“Hi,” Viktor said. “I like poodles. I mean, we’ve met.” Yurio let out a snort of laughter. Yurio could join Mila in the grave.“Hi,” Yuuri said, blushing. “I like poodles, too.”Viktor likes:- Procrastination- Poodles- Lilia's new assistantViktor does not like:- Lilia- Poodle-killersThose last two things are, somehow, related.





	The Devil Wears Pelts

**Author's Note:**

> Me: Aw this is a cute idea I'll do something short for it  
> Also me: *writes 13k words and takes three months* Fuck.
> 
> This is for Mary, who asked the bboi chat once if someone would do a 101 Dalmations AU with poodles. I made it a 101 Dalmations and Devil Wears Prada fusion because... reasons. Sorry I'm so late with this prompt lmao. 
> 
> Find Mary and her amazing art (with MERMAIDS and SEALS and other amazing YOI-related things) at artofmarylarson.tumblr.com.
> 
> !!! Y'all should also check out the lovely artwork that Mary did alongside this fic! [Poodles!](https://artofmarylarson.tumblr.com/post/167390050635/the-amazing-anzie-wrote-this-after-a-discussion-we)

Anyone who _knows_ Viktor also knows that he is an unstoppable force of nature, the same way people _know_ that pastels are spring colors, animal print belongs in the 1960s, and Beyonce is America’s true monarch. Yet, _knowing_ that Viktor is likely to breeze past the waiting line of hungry patrons was very different from experiencing it, as the flustered maitre’d of _Le Dalmatien_ was quick to realize.

“Sir,” the maitre’d said, fingers fluttering as he all but body-blocked Viktor’s attempted entrance. “Sir, you have to have a reservation!”

Viktor beamed at the maitre’d, who faltered and wilted under the brilliant beam of that smile focussed directly upon him. “Yakov has one,” he chirped, making to step around the man again. “Just check for his name, will you?”

“Sir, Mr. Feltsman left an hour ago,” the maitre’d stammered, rallying. “Please, you have to get in line with the other patrons.”

“No, no,” Viktor said cheerily. “I’m sure he’s still here. We have a meeting.”

At that moment, Viktor’s phone rang, cutting off the man’s reply - there was a strange sound not unlike a little sob of relief as Viktor went for the device, trapped beneath the layers of his jacket. “Yakov!” Viktor sang, beaming at the maitre’d again. “I’m in the restaurant, but this gentleman at the door won’t let me in. I think he wants a little payment.” The maitre’d does a passable impersonation of a flushed goldfish at the insinuating wink. “Will you come and get me?”

“Viktor,” Yakov said, his sigh turning to white noise through the phone. “We were supposed to meet two hours ago.”

“Oh! Is it that late already?”

“Come back to the office,” Yakov said. “We’ll talk here.”

Forty-three minutes and a close call involving Viktor’s car and an old lady carrying a yappy chihuahua in a fur coat later, Viktor swept through the doors of Yakov’s office with a big smile and open arms. “Yasha,” he sang. Yakov pinched the bridge of his nose between this index and thumb, muttering what sounded suspiciously like a prayer over the stack of papers on his desk. “How mean! You couldn’t wait five minutes to have lunch with your favorite?” Viktor settled gracefully into the chair, next to a sour-faced, straight-backed woman. He offered the lady a wink before adding, “You didn’t tell me you had company!”

“Five minutes.” Yakov said flatly. “Viktor, our appointment was at noon.”

Viktor plucked a blue skittle from Yakov’s little basket and popped it into his mouth with a shrug. “What’s your point?”

Yakov raised his gaze to the heavens. “Vitya. It’s almost _three_.”

“Three hours, five minutes, what difference does it make?” Viktor said, selecting another skittle. Yakov, the party pooper, pulled the basket away from him with a scowl. “ _Ya_ sha.” Viktor pouted, folding his arms over his chest.

“We need to talk about the next spread, Vitya,” Yakov said sternly, mouth pulled down into a frown. “You’ve been putting it off for too long now.”

With a slanted grin, Viktor rested both elbows on the desk and propped his chin in his hands. “It’s coming along, Yakov. You can’t hurry inspiration!”

“That’s what you said to me last month, Vitya. Surely at this point you can at least tell us what your chosen theme is,” Yakov said. The frown lines on the side of his mouth deepened, twin death valleys from which no man lived to tell their tale.

“Like I said,” Viktor said comfortably. “You can’t hurry inspiration.” He offered a big smile, but that did nothing to smooth the creases on Yakov’s face. If anything, they seemed deeper. “I’m very close to finding the perfect theme for this spread, Yakov. You said it yourself: this one has to be perfect.”

“At this point we’ll settle for _done_.”

“Yakov!” Viktor affected scandal, hand pressed over his heart, jaw theatrically dropped. Honestly, _Yakov_. It was like he didn’t care about _Stammi Vicino_ anymore, about its popularity and its standing amongst the much bigger _Vogue_. Yakov certainly never saw _Stammi Vicino_ the same way that Viktor did - as a piece of art, as a way to surprise the world. He told Yakov as much.

Yakov gazed at him heartlessly through his spiel, lips pressed into a thin line. He steepled his fingers. “Viktor, you’ve changed the theme of the next spread twelve times, and that’s not counting the times you decided that a previous theme was much better.”

“Sometimes they were,” Viktor chirped brightly, leaning forwards on his elbows, theatrics forgotten.

“My point,” Yakov barreled on, electing to ignore Viktor’s interjection, “Is that you have been promising a spread for weeks, Viktor. _Weeks._ You have _one_ week left until the deadline, or the magazine gets tanked.”

“Don’t be so dramatic.” Viktor propped his chin in his hands, letting his lower lip roll out in a pout. Yakov stared flatly back. “You don’t rush greatness. The magazine won’t crash and burn, we’ve been through this before, haven’t we? I’m only human!”

“I know,” Yakov said grimly. “That’s why Lilia is here to help.”

“Lilia?” Viktor tipped his head to the side with a frown, curiosity overpowering his offense.

“She’s the artistic director and editor-in-chief for the European _Stammi._  Your counterpart.” Yakov glanced at the stern-looking lady briefly, his lips thin enough to slice paper. “Lilia Baranovskaya, Viktor.”

“Lilia _who_?”

“Viktor,” said the lady. Her hair was pulled back into an unforgiving bun, drawing attention to the sharp lines of her face. She held out her hand, lips pursed like she’d just swallowed something terrible. “A pleasure.”

“Yakov,” Viktor said delightedly. He took the lady’s hand and shook it enthusiastically. “You didn’t tell me you were bringing your wife!”

The hollows in the woman’s cheeks grew deeper, pink spots appearing high on her cheeks, and Viktor winced a moment later, body curving over his arm as he tried to pry his hand out of her death grasp. Across the table, Yakov let out a sound like he was being garroted before breaking into deep coughs, fist pounding over his chest.

“He’s not my husband,” the woman said coldly, at the same time Yakov sputtered, “She is _not_ my wife, Viktor!”

“Oh,” Viktor said, mournfully cradling his limp hand to his chest. Freeing his hand from the lady’s deceptively strong hold, he reflected, was like wrestling a bear or trying to pry away from the doe-eyed gaze of Makkachin: impossible and potentially deadly. “I didn’t know.”

“Of course you wouldn’t,” Yakov muttered. “Vitya, _this_ is Madame Lilia Baranovskaya. She will be the temporary director until you get your act together.”

Madame Lilia Baranovskaya looked down her nose at him, lips curling distastefully. Viktor experienced a moment of surreality as Lilia’s eyes raked over him and she _did not like what she saw_. That’s never happened before, he thought, disoriented when Lilia turned her sharp gaze to Yakov. “He is your Artistic Director?” she asked, not quietly. Her eyes fall back on him, and she frowns. “Weak minded and bad posture.”

_That_ has never happened before either.

“Yeah, well,” Viktor sputtered, incapable of response. She was wearing a _fur coat._  Viktor decided that he could hate her for that, if nothing else.

 

“You really hate her,” Mila, who was one of his personal assistants, observed.

“I don’t hate her,” Viktor corrected, because she wasn’t wrong but he couldn’t really _say_ that he thought she was a first class job-stealing, cat-loving, fur-wearing _bitch_. “I just dislike her very strongly. Until she gets out of my office. Which is _mine_. Not hers. Even if she’s in it.” Especially if she’s in it. He had _pictures_ of _Makkachin_ in that office that he refused to take down, despite Yakov’s growling insistence. A part of him was starting to regret it, as he gazed a little mournfully at the empty desk he now inhabited. “I’m sure she’s perfectly nice to some people.”

“You hate her,” Mila said cheerfully, settling comfortably back into her chair with a pleased smile on her face.

“That’s your own fault, old man,” Yurio muttered from nearby. He hadn’t looked up once from his phone since Viktor joined them ten minutes ago, a hunched over phone-zombie of absolute disrespect. “If you did your fucking job--”

“I mean, you’re not alone,” Phichit said, grinning at Viktor at an attempt at comfort. “Some of the interns are terrified of her. One of them even fainted when she _looked_ at him.” Phichit looked far too pleased to deliver such gossip, and Viktor soaked the mutual (and entirely professional) dislike up.

“Who does she think she is, anyway?” he asked grumpily, electing to ignore Yurio’s spiel. The kid didn’t have a leg to stand on, especially since he’s at least ten per cent of the reason Viktor’s missed few meetings. “Some kind of fashion god?”

Unfortunately, Mila was all too happy to help. Her red curls bounced around her face as she sat up rapidly, chair skidding a little across the thickly carpeted floor in her excitement.

“They call her the Madame,” she explained, taking on a distant, starry-eyed look. Her hands gripped the edge of her desk, turning white with the force of her fangirl. “The dragon lady. She and her husband were on the verge of divorce last summer. It was all over the news, they’re trying to work things out now. She flew out here just for him. It’s so romantic,” Mila added with a dreamy sigh.

In a fit of romance, Lilia swept by the assistants’ desks in a flurry of black fur coat that she tossed with the bag across the polished oak of Mila’s perfectly organized table. A stack of papers tumbled to the floor in their haste to make way for Lilia’s belongings. At the same instant, her voice snapped out an order for a “large cappuccino not from Starbucks with _one_ sprinkle of cinnamon. Bring my lunch to my office at noon - get my usual. I want the dress series sketches from design in ten minutes, and _get Patrick on the phone_.”

With a face like she’s seen a ghost, Mila leaped to her feet, stammering out a quick _yes ma’am_ , and scrambled out the glass door with Phichit at her heels. Lilia turned her eyes on Yurio, who merely frowned down at his phone in acknowledgement. “And _where_ is my interviewee?” she snarled, breathing smoke.

“No fucking clue, he’s got ten minutes,” Yurio said, tapping away with his feet crossed on the desk.

The door burst open again, spitting out a lithe man with dishevelled clothes and crooked blue spectacles, a deep flush across his cheeks and a bewildered look in his eyes. Viktor gawked as a curly brown poodle puppy poked out of the man’s backpack with a soft whine. Viktor’s heart _melted._ “Right here!” the man panted, hands braced on his knees as he gasped for breath. He straightened and nervously adjusted his clothes. “Yuuri Katsuki. I’m so sorry I’m late, Madame Baranovskaya!”

“Humph. Office,” Lilia said, after giving him a cold once-over. Her lip was curled with distaste, but all she said was, “Leave your dog with him,” with a jerk of her chin at Yurio, who glowered in returned. Yuuri was about to hand off his poodle backpack to Yurio when Viktor shook himself out of his gawking stupor.

“Don’t do that,” Viktor said, catching Yuuri Katsuki’s hand, recognizing the murderous glint in Yurio’s eye. Yuuri froze like he’s been stunned. “I’ll take him.”

“V-Vi-”

“Katsuki!”

“Better go,” Yurio said to his phone. “Before she starts throwing chalk.”

“T-Thank you,” Yuuri said, looking up through dark hair to give Viktor a shy, shaky smile. He took a deep breath, seeming to steel himself before adding, “His name is Vicchan.”

“Hi, Vicchan,” Viktor said, gripping the puppy bag to his chest as he gazed into Yuuri’s big, beautiful brown eyes. Vicchan whuffled at Viktor curiously, wet nose cold against his cheek. He laughed, turning his smile on the dog; he can feel its tail beating against the insides of the bag.

“Stop eye-fucking each other and get a move on,” Yurio barked from behind them. Yuuri, turning bright red, jumped a mile into the air and scrambled away, leaving stuttered apologies in his wake. “You’re disgusting. That’s _Lilia’s assistant._ ” Yurio informed Viktor, to the sound of Vicchan’s soft whine, as Viktor gazed after him with a dreamy smile.

“He has a _poodle_ ,” Viktor said, because that’s the only thing that mattered.

Yurio groaned.

 

He was still daydreaming about Yuuri when he wandered into Lilia’s office later that day, forgetting the location of his new desk with a fresh mug of tea in his hand and a dazed smile on his face, inadvertently twenty minutes late for a meeting.

“Ah, Viktor.” Lilia’s bird-like gaze fell on him, and Viktor had a moment to stifle a grimace behind his mug before flashing the Madame his biggest, brightest smile.

“Madame Baranovskaya! What a lovely surprise to see you here, in, ah, your own office.” Lilia squinted at him, little furrows forming around her mouth with what Viktor was quickly recognizing to be annoyance. Hastily, he barreled on: “And you brought your husband!”

The tall, blond man standing behind Lilia widened his eyes and shook his head quickly, hands held out as he mouthed something that Viktor didn’t catch. Viktor furrowed his brow, trying to read the husband’s lips. _I’m… what…?_

“This,” Lilia said, in a tone frostier than Frosted Flakes, “Is the new temporary Creative Director, Christophe Giacometti. He has very kindly offered his services for the next few months to prevent the New York magazine from - as you so eloquently put it - _crashing and burning_.”

Oh.

“Mr. Giacometti,” Viktor said, hastily slapping a smile over his own panicked expression. “Good to meet you, I’ve heard so much about you.”

“Not enough, apparently,” said Giacometti. “Call me Chris. I was a huge fan of the Winter spread you did in 2006. Designers think that flowers are usually for the spring, but the blue roses were a really nice touch.”

“Viktor,” said Viktor. “But you already knew that.” He offered his hand. Chris’s grip was warm and inviting, like his grin.

“Chris will be joining us for today’s preview,” Lilia said. “I trust that you’ll be there on time, Viktor.” Viktor covered his grimace with a big smile, and Lilia sniffed disdainfully, sweeping away without another word. As soon as her back was turned, Viktor let his smile drop. The glass door leading into her office - the one that _he_ had sat in not two days ago - should have shattered with the force of her evil, but it clicked shut anticlimactically behind her, the traitor.

Chris tugs gently on Viktor’s sleeve, disrupting him from staring morosely after Lilia. “Listen,” Chris said, voice pitched low enough that Viktor had to lean in to hear him properly. “Take it from someone who knows - Lilia’s a monster and a half.”

“I noticed,” Viktor muttered. The woman in question was flicking idly through the papers on his desk in a way that reminded Viktor of the devil in children’s cartoons. “I think she hates me.”

“Stay close to me,” Chris advised. “I’ll show you the ropes.”

 

The preview, Viktor decided, was an exercise in extreme patience, a quality in which Viktor notably suffered. He watched, butt sliding down to hook over the edge of his uncomfortably plastic seat, as Lilia dismissed a dozen different outfits - from the hideous, off-white bodysuits with _flaps_ and _feathers_ (really, _feathers_ , _so_ last season) to the puke-colored pants and an entire line of clothing made out of rough synthetic fur. The only thing that prevented him from sprawling across the floor was the glare Lilia slanted at him every so often, giving him strength to hold the tension in his thighs long enough to remain (mostly) upright.

The designer, some new upstart hoping to impress, was steadily growing more agitated, his once-perfect coif raked through with fingers and - at one point - the synthetic fur as he dragged the top of his head over one of the jackets in frustration. His available pieces were thinning in number - somewhat, Viktor thinks pettily, like Yakov’s hair - and he could practically taste the desperation in the air. Or maybe it was just the pleather.

It was only a couple of minutes later that the designer broke and buried his face into his hansd. “I can’t do this,” he cried, with a muffled sob, “I don’t have anything. I _can’t do this,_ lord have mercy.” His assistant, a small woman with long hair and a weary look on her face, rubbed his back, eyes fixed on the ceiling as if asking the light fixtures for guidance.

The line of Lilia’s mouth became thin and tight at the admission. Her cheeks hollowed again, as though she were sucking on a particularly sour lemon; the expression had Viktor staring at her in mild confusion, tracking the line of her gaze to… the synthetic fur? Uncertainly, he leaned over and murmured in Chris’s ear, “What does that mean?”

Chris flicked a curious glance over at the Madame, and his eyes widened. “Oh no,” Chris said succinctly. Lilia’s eyes shifted to them, narrowing at their stares, and Chris paled to match the color of the rejected bodysuits. “I’ll tell you later,” Chris muttered out of the corner of his mouth, eyes fixed blindly ahead.

Viktor leaned back into his chair, casting Lilia another wary look. Her lips thinned dangerously, and he snapped his gaze back to the front, feeling unnervingly as though he’d just been cornered by the apex predator. Her eyes burned a hole into his cheek. Trying not to move his lips, he hissed at Chris, “When’s later?”

Chris opened to his mouth, but the voice that takes over the room was Lilia’s. “You are dismissed,” she said, still glowering at Viktor. The room flew into motion as assistants and previewers leaped to their feet with Viktor at the helm, his stuff gathered haphazardly in his arms. “Except _you_.” He froze, a chill running down the back of his spine. Slowly, Viktor spun on the balls of his feet, anticipating the pursed lips of annoyance, the laser-eyed glare - except that the expression was directed at the cowering designer, who looked as though she’d just offered to nail him into the coffin. “I want five minutes with you.” The designer turned translucent. Viktor privately blessed his nearly departed soul and made his own escape.

That was how _later_ became _lunch_ at the cafeteria back at headquarters, with a circle of people Viktor immediately dubbed the Lilia Baranovskaya Victim Support Group. Huddled around the lunch table with some of the interns, who had slumped shoulders and faces in their food, Chris put his cutlery down next to his still-full plate with a solemn expression, the final _clink_ of metal silencing the minimal conversation around the table. “She gave the lips today,” Chris informed the group, who groaned collectively; Viktor snagged Emil’s plate when his head drooped dangerously close to his lasagna.

“I still don’t know what that means,” Viktor said, brow furrowed at Emil’s defeated slouch. “Why is it bad when she purses her lips like that?”

“It means,” said Mila, “That she’s Not Happy. She had that trademarked.”

“‘Not happy’?”

“The lips,” Mila clarified. “But she should probably get Not Happy trademarked, too. It’s like, her catchphrase. She has her people use it in her name.”

Viktor groaned, dropping his head into his arms. “How do all of you _know_ this?”

“My friend,” Emil said, looking up from where his nose left a smudge of cheesy tomato on the table. “It’s _Lilia Baranovskaya._ Founder of Baranovskaya Furs, known wearer of _the_ original Manolo Blahniks, true leader of the free world, and Kim Kardashian’s personal fashion coach.” Emil ticked off her accomplishments on his fingers. “She single-handedly started the cerulean craze back in the 90s. The real question is how _you_ don’t know this. Aren’t you our artistic director?”

“Currently ‘former’,” Viktor muttered into the table.

“The old man doesn’t even pay attention to our magazine,” Yurio said. “Let alone anyone else.”

“Hey.” Viktor frowned at Yurio. “I’ll have you know that I have some _very good ideas_ for our next spread.”

“Yeah? Share.”

“It’s top secret,” Viktor said, turning his nose up.

Yurio’s grin was a flash of metal slicing through cloth. “Meaning: you have no fucking clue.” _Viktor_ was the cloth.

“I am ruined,” Viktor said to him, only a little bit joking. “Devastated.”

“Shame,” Yurio bit back, eyes glinting maliciously.

“Oh! Yuuri!” Mila sat up suddenly, beaming and waving her arm high in the air to catch the attention of the trembling figure that was Poodle-loving Assistant Yuuri hunching over his tray. “Come sit with us!”

“How do you know him?” Viktor asked, staring intently at the young man nervously shuffling his feet as though unable to decide if he should obey or run. Poodle-loving Assistant Yuuri ducked his head and started shuffling over to them at a snail’s pace.

Idly, Mila said, “What? Oh, I don’t. He deals with Lilia every day, though! Why, do you like him?”

“ _Mila,_ you--”

“Hi, Mila.” The shyness of the tone raised all the hairs on Viktor’s body, released butterflies into his swooping stomach, restarted his heart and raised the dead - like he’d been electrocuted. In slow motion, he turned around to bless his eyes with God’s gift to mankind, with his pinked cheeks, downcast gaze and large glasses. Vicchan stuck his head out of the backpack, pink tongue poking out of his mouth, and yipped once at the table at large. The bespectacled man fiddled nervously with his tray, casting Viktor a nervous look - “ _Stop staring_ ,” Yurio hissed, poking him hard in the back with his fork - before offering Mila a tiny smile. “Do you need something?”

“Sit with us for lunch!” Mila said - demanded, really, because nobody ever says no to Mila.

“Ah, I can’t, I promised Phichit,” Yuuri said helplessly, giving Viktor another wide-eyed expression. Yurio poked him hard in the head, and Viktor winced, unwilling to tear his eyes away from Poodle-loving Assistant Yuuri long enough to glare at his assistant. “Um, maybe, maybe another day?” He shuffled his feet a little to the side, and, _oh no,_ he was going to walk away.

“Well, meet the rest of us first,” Mila insisted, _bless her heart_ , as she grabbed Yuuri’s hand before he could make a break for it. “Yuuri, this is Viktor Nikiforov.” There’s a shit-eating grin on her face, and Viktor wondered, briefly, how much time he’d have to serve if he’d strangled her and claimed self-defense. Maybe Yurio could help him hide the body.

“Hi,” Viktor said. “I like poodles. _I mean_ , we’ve met.” Yurio let out a snort of laughter. Yurio could join Mila in the grave.

“Hi,” Yuuri said, blushing. “I like poodles, too.” Oh no, he’s adorable.

The bag on Yuuri’s shoulder shifted, and the little poodle wriggled, black twitching nose poking over Yuuri’s shoulder to scent the food. Almost absently, Yuuri reached around to smooth a hand over Vicchan’s head, the puppy squirming happily into his hand, and Viktor kind of wanted to die.

“Katsuki,” a sharp voice cut through the bustle of the cafeteria, saving Viktor from an untimely, indignified death. As one, all heads turned towards Lilia standing regal-like at the entrance, with the designer from the preview slumping unhappily at her side, looking as though five minutes alone with Lilia had been enough to drain him of all life. “My office, _now_ . Bring your poodle.” She swept away through the double doors without another word, and Viktor viciously hoped that _these_ doors at least would hit her on the way.

Yuuri looked mournfully at his tray of food.

“You’d better go,” Chris advised. “She doesn’t like to be kept waiting.”

“Yeah,” Yuuri said, gulping audibly, and put his tray on their table. He straightened his shoulders, casting them another worried look.

“Good luck,” they said in unison as Yuuri walked away, looking for all the world as though he’d rather not.

“I wonder why he’s getting called in,” Mila said thoughtfully, chin in her hand. “He didn’t do anything, did he?” The last part was directed at Yurio, who scowled in return.

“How should I know, hag? I’m not his fucking keeper.”

“There was a design that caught her eye at the preview,” Chris offered, as though that meant anything to anyone.

“How do you _know_ that?” Viktor demanded. Unless he’d accidentally fallen asleep for two minutes - which is a definite possibility - he’d watched her turn every single item down.

Chris shrugged, slurping his milkshake noisily. “The fur jackets,” he explained, words garbled around the straw. “It _is_ really too bad about the quality - the cut was _very_ unique. Lilia’s always looking for something new to add to her collection.”

Viktor stared at him. Then--

 

“I’m telling you.” Viktor gripped Chris by the arm, distraught. They were standing alone in the bathroom with the flickering overhead on the twenty-third floor, in the furthest corner away from the toilet that sometimes unexpectedly spat out what people dropped in. “I’m telling you, she’s _going to make a poodle coat._ ”

“What makes you say that?” Chris peeled Viktor’s fingers off his arm one by one with a pained look, but every time he moved on to the next, the previous finger was already back to leaving bruises on his bicep.

“ _I saw the look on her face_ ,” Viktor hissed, oblivious to Chris’s discomfort. “She’s _evil_ , Chris! You said so! She’s going to murder the poodle and wear his pelt like a queen!”

“Ow,” Chris said. “She’s not going to _murder a poodle,_  Viktor. Maybe you could ask Yuuri what she wanted with Vicchan when he gets out of her office. Did you know that my limbs need circulation to work?”

“It’s not like she’s going to let him say anything to me if she hurt him,” Viktor insisted. “She’ll probably--” Horror struck him at the same time a terrible thought did. Anguished, Viktor grasped a wincing Chris closer and wailed, “What if she’s killed Poodle Assistant Yuuri? What am I going to do then? He’s too cute to die!”

“Wow,” Chris said, finally freeing himself of Viktor’s limpet. “Mila was right. You do have a crush.”

“I-- You-- _That’s not the point,_ Chris!” Viktor sputtered.

“Listen.” Chris fended off Viktor’s reaching fingers hastily. “Why don’t you go and wait outside her office? Maybe if she knows she has a witness, she won’t do anything.”

Viktor brightened. “That’s a great idea!”

 

“I can’t believe I missed him,” Viktor wailed into his pillow, as a worried Makkachin snuffled at his arm with a low, persistent whine. Smooshing his face harder into the pillow, Viktor continued, “He could be dead! Lilia could be burying him six feet under as we speak, and digging her awful claws into poor little Vicchan. How can I ever look Makka in the eye, knowing I failed one of his kin?”

“ _Look,_ ” Yurio said, sounding like he was two seconds away from reaching through the cell phone separating them and strangling Viktor, “ _If you’re going to fucking whine at me, can you make at least make sense?_ ”

Grumpily, Viktor raised his head and moaned, “I lost them, Yurio.” He felt his lower lip wobbling out in an irretrievable pout, watched the whirling patterns of his throw pillow blur with tears. “He was sweet and nice and very, very cute. _He liked poodles, Yurio_ . And now Lilia’s taken him away from me, like she took my job and my _life_.”

“ _You’re an idiot,_ ” Yurio said, very calmly and succinctly. “ _Because_ _Katsudon just left the fucking office._ ”

“What?” Viktor bolted upright. “Why didn’t you say that earlier? Where is he going? Did he have Vicchan with him? Was he crying? Did Lilia hurt him?”

A scoff had Viktor pouting again. “ _Fuck if I know. Take your precious dog and have him sniff Katsudon out, or whatever dogs are meant to do, so you can ask him yourself, old man. I’m a personal assistant but I’m not your servant. Don’t call me again._ ”

“Wait!” Viktor yelped into the receiver, mind whirring as he tried to think. “I’ll… I’ll give you Thursday! You can take Beka to the zoo for half price to see the cat show!”

A pause. The line crackled with the silence between them, Viktor with bated breath and Yurio with emanating suspicion.

“ _Two Thursdays_ ,” Yurio said, eventually. “ _And I get to pick which ones_.”

“Done,” Viktor said, breathlessly.

“ _Katsudon said something about the park._ ”

“Did he say which one?”

“ _I’m not_ his _keeper, asshat. Go find out yourself,”_ Yurio barked, and hung up. Viktor pouted down at his phone, which cheerfully informed him that he’d spent twelve minutes and thirteen seconds speaking with an aggravated Yurio. Makka pushed her nose into his hand, demanding cuddles with insistent little licks against his palm.

Running his fingers through Makka’s soft fur, Viktor stretched over to drop a kiss on her head before scrambling to his feet with determination or bloodrush surging up through his brain. “Come on, Makka, let’s go for a walk. There’s a boy we need to find.”

Forty-five minutes later, with Makka firmly - and disappointedly - clipped on a leash to prevent her from being unexpectedly Lilia-napped, Viktor concluded that his dog was sweet, understanding, lovable and extremely cuddly, but could not for the life of her sniff out a garbage can, let alone a missing poodle-toting assistant from work. Calling his coworkers had been no help, either - Mila hung on on him when he asked, Phichit hadn’t answered, and Chris had only picked up to wish him luck and tell him not to call again, because he was going to get wasted.

“At six thirty in the evening?” Viktor said, dubiously.

“With a cute boy, Viktor, yours isn’t the only one with a nice ass,” Chris responded before hanging up.

Sighing, Viktor dejectedly watched his dog amble over to a pile of leaves. She flopped over and started rolling around in the mess, tongue hanging happily out of the side of her mouth.

“Makka,” he called, and she scrambled to her feet to shake herself off before trotting back over to him. Sighing, Viktor knelt in front of her, accepting her happy little licks on his cheek. “You really don’t know where he is, do you?” He curled his fingers into her fur, and she boofed. Viktor swallowed his disappointment and buried his face into Makka’s curls. Yuuri probably didn’t even live near this park; Viktor had chosen it for its proximity to the offices, but maybe Yuuri decided to go to the one near his home instead. That would make sense. And besides, if he didn’t have Vicchan anymore…

His eyes stung. Yuuri probably wouldn’t have a reason to be at the park, anyway.

With a soft whine, Makkachin turned her head to whuffle at his ear, her tail drooping slightly. “It’s okay, Makka,” he told her, plucking leaves from her coat. She peered up at him with her sweet puppydog eyes. “You’ll never be a bloodhound, but I still love you.”

She boofed again, snuffling his hair before whipping around abruptly, body tense and ears pricked. With a frown, Viktor followed her gaze. “What is it, Makka?” He saw nothing but bushes and the street beyond. “A squirrel?” he guessed.

With a happy little yip, Makkachin ripped free from his hold, and it was really only the reflexes ingrained from the poodle’s enthusiastic youth that Viktor was able to hold onto the leash as he was yanked without dignity to his feet. “Makkachin!” he yelped, fingers closed tight around the loop of the leash. Ignoring him, Makkachin leaped through the bushes, sending Viktor flying right into--

“ _Oof!_ ”

\--another person, who, miraculously, caught them both before they unceremoniously hit the floor.

Viktor, with his arms wrapped around the other person and - _wow he feels really good_ \- squinting out of where their heads collided painfully, said hastily, “I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to-- my dog, she’s not usually so--”

“V-Viktor?”

The stammered word shut Viktor up as electricity shot straight through his spine. His jaw worked soundlessly until his lungs spat out the first thing he could think to say.

“Poodle assistant!”

“What?” Yuuri said, wide-eyed.

“I mean,” Viktor said hastily, staring down at confused brown eyes, “Yuuri. Katsuki. From work. Wow! I was just looking for you. You’re really cute. Wow!”

“Oh,” Yuuri said, a pretty blush stealing across his cheeks. He ducked his head - and okay that position put him at the prime cuddling height, so if accused Viktor _can not_ be blamed for resting his chin on the little whorl of hair - and mumbled into Viktor’s jacket, “Hi.”

“Hi,” Viktor said stupidly. “I’m really, _really_ glad to see you.” To that, Yuuri made a valiant attempt at words, but the sounds were so strung together that Viktor could only beam at him in confusion. “I’m glad you’re not dead. Or Vicchan! Hi Vicchan!”

The poodle, let loose from his little backpack, was trying to sniff under Makka’s tail as Makka tried to do the same, both of them winding round and round their legs. It was cute, except--

“Oh no,” Yuuri said forlornly, staring down at the dogs as they were both jerked to a stop. Makkachin pushed her head against Yuuri’s thigh as Vicchan flopped to his belly and whined. His ears drooped. “I think we’re stuck.”

Viktor pouted. “Don’t you want to be stuck with me?”

“What?”

“I mean, do you think you can help them get us free?”

“Ah,” Yuuri said, awkwardly attempting to reach his dog. “I can unclip--”

“No!” Viktor said quickly. Yuuri froze. “I mean, not here. Not so close to Evil Dog Lady.”

Things that should not be as cute as they really were: Yuuri chewing on his bottom lip thoughtfully, his glasses sliding minutely down his nose. He reached up with one finger to nudge them back up and gazed up at Viktor again. “Okay, we can sort of… shuffle them around, I guess.”

Ten minutes and a lot of bribery later, Makkachin and Vicchan were happily dancing around each other, tangling up their lines without care as Viktor and Yuuri were tugged along behind them in complete, companionable silence. As stealthily as he could, Viktor peeked over at him, trying to assess any damage or potential threats against him. Yuuri was wearing long sleeves - unconducive to his sleuthing. He settled for admiring the view instead.

Yuuri caught his eye and turned bright red. Viktor blinked back.

“I don’t normally see you at this park,” he offered shyly after a minute, ducking his head and peering at Viktor through his lashes. “Do you… do you live nearby?”

“Not really,” Viktor said, still staring. Yuuri had the slightest dusting of freckles across his nose, like stars. “I normally take Makka to the park just across the street from my building. Do you normally walk Vicchan here?”

Nodding, Yuuri gestured towards a small group of flats. “We live there,” he explained, oblivious to Viktor’s horrified gaze. Yuuri lived within ten minutes of the office. Yuuri lived _ten minutes_ away from Lilia’s catching grounds. _Yuuri and Vicchan were in danger_. “I, um, moved in with Phichit? He’s a good friend of mine, from college. Vicchan likes his hamsters, but doesn’t like eating them. Which is good. Because hamsters aren’t meant to be eaten. Um, and Phichit would be really sad.” He flushed red again, and said, “Oh god, I’m talking too much.”

“No,” Viktor said hastily. “No, no, not at all. I like you. I mean! _I like hearing you speak_. Your voice is, um. Very soothing. Nice.” Yuuri covered his face with his arm, letting out a squeak. “Do you want coffee?”

“Caramel cappuccino with an extra shot of espresso and a one sprinkle of cinnamon on whipped cream,” Yuuri said immediately, dropping his arm. Viktor stared at him, blinking rapidly. “Oh.” He blushed. “Um, yes, I mean, yes. But I’ll, I’ll take tea. If you’re okay. I don’t really drink, um. Coffee. And, you know, coffee-hunting for something that isn’t Starbucks isn’t really… appealing, right now.” He bit his lip, and Viktor beamed at him.

“I love tea! Do you put jam in your tea, too?”

“That… no.”

“Oh.” Viktor frowned, pressing a finger to his lip. Makkachin bounded over to him, tongue lolling out of her mouth, as Viktor beamed at Yuuri. “Well, you should try it with jam right now! Let’s go get tea! And jam!”

One quick trip into a nearby cafe later, Yuuri peered dubiously down into his tea, both hands wrapped around the styrofoam. Makka and Vicchan had curled around each other in a pile of leaves, snoozing, and Viktor leaned back into the park bench, beaming at him. “Try it!”

“Um, just wondering, but uh, what did Lilia want with you earlier?”

Yuuri blinked at him, looking thrown. “What? Oh, she, um, wanted coffee?”

“With the designer and your poodle?” Viktor interrupted dubiously.

“Oh!” Yuuri’s eyes lit up with understanding. “Oh, no, she just wanted to feel Vicchan’s fur,” he explained, looking adorably flustered. “And, um, the designer, too. I think she’s got some good ideas lined up for the spread. With fur.”

“And that doesn’t concern you?”

“No?” Yuuri gave him a confused look. “Should it?”

“Never mind,” Viktor murmured, frowning at Yuuri. He didn’t _seem_ worried...

“I’m glad I’d given Vicchan a bath yesterday,” Yuuri said, smiling down at his pup. Vicchan lifted his head at the sound of his name and wagged his tail once before curling back into Makkachin with a little sigh. “She really seemed to like how soft Vicchan was.”

 

“See!” Viktor flapped his hands at Chris, who winced at his volume over the cacophony that accompanied lunch hour at work the next day.

Rolling her eyes, Mila picked at her lunch. “This isn’t 101 Dalmations, Viktor,” she said with a heavy sigh. “I’m sure she’s not as bad as you think she is. She might even - I don’t know - _like dogs._ ”

Setting his jaw stubbornly, Viktor crossed his arms. “That’s what she wants us to think,” he said. “You don’t know what I’ve seen and heard, Mila. She’s _evil_ . She wants to take Vicchan’s fur. And _I can’t let that happen_. He’s too cute.” Mila groaned, throwing her hands up in defeat before turning to Chris, whose face is scrunched up in a grimace.

“Do you mean that _Yuuri_ or _Vicchan_ is too cute?” Phichit asked from where he was seated next to Chris, sparkling brightly.

“Both,” Viktor said firmly. “Definitely both.”

Phichit cackled in delight, and Chris winced, cupping his hands over his ears. “Not so loud, _Müsli_ ,” he whispered. Phichit bumped companionably into him with a grin.

“Did you really tell your dog walker to take Makka to the park four miles from your apartment?” Leo asked, interested, as he plucked onions out of his burger.

“It’s not safe for Makka in this city anymore,” Viktor said ominously. Yurio snorted.

“So you’re what, going to send him abroad next?”

Viktor’s face turned contemplative. Yurio groaned and threw a napkin at him.

 

Nothing happened that day - Viktor kept an eye on Yuuri as much as he could, ribbing an amused Phichit and a petulant Chris to join him in his top secret mission. He would’ve roped in Yurio, but the deadly look that entered the kid’s eyes when Viktor opened his mouth didn’t seem like it’d be worth asking.

So when he found Lilia - _of all people, honestly_ \- in his _neighborhood_ , _twenty meters away_ from his apartment building where Makkachin innocently lay upon her doggy bed, chewing happily at her toys, completely unaware of the evilest of evils breathing in the same air she did-- Well, Viktor didn’t really know what to think but _oh fuck_ on repeat.

It was entirely by accident, too. Thursday nights were grocery nights, and Makka goes through her chow like an old pickup guzzles gas, so Viktor stopped by the pet store across the street to grab a fresh bag of kibble on his way home.

There, as though she weren’t planning the murder of at least two dogs, was Lilia Baranovskaya talking to the unsuspecting owner as she petted one of the toy poodle puppies that innocently nuzzled into her hand - not knowing that the same hand would happily wring its cute little neck. Viktor gaped at Lilia from around his paid-for bag of kibble. He supposed he should be glad for her distraction, because she paid _him_ no mind.

The puppy nibbled on her fingers, trying to pet her in turn with its teensy weensy paws.

“Oh my god,” Viktor breathed in horror, and the owner looked up with a smile.

“Oh, hello--”

“Gotta go!” Viktor blurted in a panic, as Lilia started to lift her head. He dashed for the door and sped out the shop with the kibble tucked in his arms, away from the poisonous gaze of Lilia Baranovskaya, founder of fur coats, Kim Kardashian’s personal beautician, leader of the free whatever and wannabe poodle murderer.

 

And, okay, Viktor had seriously considered not going into work the next day, paralyzed with concern that Makkachin might be in danger, what with Lilia having fixed his poor poodle with her predatory bird eyes, having successfully scoped out her target like a seasoned dog-napper. But somehow, Yurio had demanded he needed to come in for some meeting or other, and then Chris had called saying he had some good news regarding the spread, and he couldn’t beg off no matter how many times he insisted to them that _Makkachin was in mortal danger_.

Yurio had, unhelpfully, laughed at him for five minutes straight before hanging up.

He spent the better half of his breakfast hour agonizing over whether Makkachin would be safer with him, even if in the vicinity of a poodle killer, or if she’d be better off at home. Fifteen minutes after he should have left, his beloved pet made the choice for him by flopping down on his couch and ignoring his pleas in favor of taking a nap.

The entire journey to the office saw Viktor on the verge of a breakdown, with half a mind to turn around and fuck his job, he’s losing that anyway and if that was a real thing then at least he’d still have Makka at the end of all this. Really, Yakov would be proud; it was his admittedly sketchy sense of duty that marched him all the way to the skyscraper’s entrance.

That same sense of duty had, also, tugged his attention to an closed cardboard box that seemed to be squeaking and shifting around on its own.

Viktor, being an entirely unsuperstitious man, peered warily through the inch-wide slit on his way to the doors. Several pairs of big brown eyes set in tiny, furry faces peered back.

“Oh no,” he said. The doorman looked at him curiously.

Dropping to his knees and scrambling closer, Viktor yanked open the cover to five poodle puppies wagging their tails curiously up at him, pink tongues sticking out comically from their mouths in greeting. “Oh no,” Viktor said again, helplessly, as his heart was methodically reduced to mush. “This is bad. This is very bad.”

Had Lilia attempted to deliver puppies by post to her door for her fur-loving consumption?

“Oh, puppies!” a cheerful voice said behind him. Heart leaping to his throat, Viktor scrambled to cover the little dogs who, at that moment, tried to greet him properly on their hind legs with their paws on the side of the box. One of them let out a little whine of pure unhappiness and - oh no - he’s not going to let them out of his sight _ever_.

Hastily, at the bemused stranger, Viktor said, “No, no, they’re not puppies they’re just--”

“Good morning, Ms Baranovskaya.”

Viktor’s head snapped up as Lilia swept by, not deigning to spare him a look - though he swore he saw her nostrils flare as she passed. His heart sank down to the soles of his shoes.

Lilia knew. Or at least, her poodly-senses had tingled, just slightly. Which meant that the puppies weren’t safe here, not this close to the office and _Lilia_.

He had to get the puppies away.

Viktor spared a moment to thank Makkachin for her lazy tendencies that morning before gathering the box in his arms. “I’ll just, uh,” he said to the exasperated-looking doorman before ducking away and hurrying back the way he came, his mind racing. _Where_ could he hide five admittedly very cute but endangered poodle puppies?

“ _Ohmygod_ , _Viktor,_ ” someone yelped half a second before Viktor collided box-first into a hard body and bounced backwards to land on his butt with a wince. The poodles yapped unhappily at him through the cardboard, and Viktor stared up in awe at _poodle-toting assistant Yuuri_ , who was holding two cups of coffee along with his usual dog pack.

No, Viktor corrected himself, Yuuri was _dipping_ and _swooping_ after his takeaway coffee to avoid leaving a mess on the sidewalk like some kind of circus balancing act. “Sorry! I’m so sorry!” Yuuri yelled as he dodged bewildered pedestrians.

“You’re really good at that,” Viktor said admiringly, once Yuuri got his runaway coffee cups under control, his cheeks pink with exertion. He ducked his head, scuffing a shoe against the ground.

“I used to spin plates at my family’s inn,” he admits, looking shy. “On sticks.”

“Wow! Amazing.”

The blush deepened. “It’s just a party trick,” Yuuri mumbled.

Viktor picked himself up and scooped the box up again. “Still amazing,” he said sincerely, beaming at Yuuri, whose eyes widened like someone had just zapped him with a bolt of electricity.

“I, um,” he said, coherently.

“Is that Vicchan? Hi, Vicchan!” The poodle poked his head out from Yuuri’s backpack, sniffing the air curiously. Viktor moved closer, reaching out to pet the little dog in greeting.

Yuuri stared down at the box, which had just squeaked. “What… what are you doing?” Yuuri asked, baffled. “What is that?”

Viktor blinked, then looked down at his box. “Oh! Oh nothing. Just delivering something to my apartment. Don’t worry!” He clutched the box of puppies closer, suddenly remembering that Yuuri thought Lilia innocent. What if he wanted to take the puppies to work?

“Shouldn’t you be at work?” Yuuri asks slowly, still staring at his cargo.

The box squeaked again before Viktor could reply, and this time a fluffy little muzzle poked from the tiny opening. Then, the box flap popped all the way open as the daring puppy poked its head through, beaming up at Yuuri with its siblings. The effect was instantaneous: Yuuri went slack with a little _oh_ of surprise, eyes large and misty with instant adoration, which sent Viktor into an endless spiral of _oh no he’s adorable_ and _he likes poodles_ as his heart returned to a state of mush.

Vicchan, apparently sensing new friends, struggled in Yuuri’s backpack, panting excitedly. “They’re so cute,” Yuuri said with a sigh, and then, “Oh! Oh, Vicchan!” The second exclamation was directed at his own poodle and was the last thing Viktor heard before he suddenly had a mouthful of poodle fur as Vicchan took a flying leap over his owner’s shoulder to get a sniff of the little puppies. “Vicchan, stop!”

For the second time in ten minutes, Viktor hit the floor, but this time the box tumbled out of his startled grasp. In slow motion, Viktor watched, horrified, as five poodle puppies went tumbling and yipping to the floor.

The puppies picked themselves up gingerly, looking about themselves in confusion before perking up at the smell of freedom.

Oh no.

“Get them!” Viktor yelped, and dove as one puppy leaped bravely for the road. His elbows and knees scraped against the gravel, but his hands closed firmly around a furry body, and the puppy let out a whine of disappointment as its flight was halted. There’s a scuffle and muffled curses somewhere next to him as his collision partner scrambled after the other puppies.

Depositing his caught puppy back in the box, Viktor chased two of the four-legged hellions down the sidewalk. One of the puppies with black fur ducked into the shadow of the bushes and was lost; the other darted through a small opening and sped through the fields after its sibling. Viktor skidded to a halt across the fence, staring after them in frustration.

“Damn it,” he said, just as Yuuri jogged up to him with the box, Vicchan and flushed cheeks.

“I caught two of them,” he said, offering the box back. “Did you get the other two?”

“No.” Viktor huffed again, feeling his lower lip slip out into a pout. “They went through here.” He gestured down the field and scowled down at the happy little puppies. “You couldn’t be _good_?”

A light pressure on his arm caught his attention, and Viktor looked up into Yuuri’s earnest brown eyes. “I’m really sorry about Vicchan,” he said sincerely, his eyebrows drawing together with concern. “He’s not normally so excited about puppies. I can help you… I can help you find them?” The tentative tone had Viktor melting just a little bit. “It was. Um. My fault. I should have strapped Vicchan in today,” he fretted, fingers curling around the straps of his backpack.

“No, no,” Viktor said immediately, grasping Yuuri’s arm in return. Yuuri looked down at the contact like he couldn’t quite comprehend the action. “It’s not your fault. I, um. Shouldn’t have let them go. Or I should have covered the box properly. I was the idiot.”

“You can’t say that,” Yuuri said, frowning at him as they started towards the gate. His hands clutched tighter around his poodle; Vicchan whined quietly, ears drooping. “You’re Viktor Nikiforov.”

Viktor frowned at him right back. “And you’re Yuuri Katsuki. What does that have to do with anything?”

“That’s not what I meant,” Yuuri said, blushing faintly. “You were _artistic director_ when you were seventeen. You paired flowers with winter when no one believed it would work.”

“You’re very sweet,” Viktor said.

He’s startled to a standstill when Yuuri yanked on his elbow with a sharp, “Don’t patronize me!” Frozen, Viktor stared at his companion, wide-eyed and confused, as Yuuri burst out, “You’re amazing! You started the blue rose movement, you debuted Alexander McQueen’s full-length double breasted drape blazer on the red carpet two years ago, you love poodles, you bought me tea, and you… you inspired so many people! Phichit joined _Stammi Vicino_ because you were a part of it. My best friend from home follows your fashion advice every time! And… And _I_ got into the fashion industry because of you.” His cheeks were definitely red now, and Yuuri had dropped eye contact with the gunfire stuttering that tumbled out of his mouth.

Viktor, with his head tipped to the side and warmth curling through his chest like a flower, said intelligently, “Oh.”

“You’re not an idiot, you’re amazing,” Yuuri said. “You could spend time with anyone you wanted, but you keep having to hang out with me instead. At least someone else wouldn’t keep running into you like…” His hand swept a gesture between them, sharp and disappointed all at once. “Like this,” he mumbled, casting his eyes down.

“Like what?”

“Like… like…” Yuuri took a deep breath. “Do you know when, um, you have a really, _really_ big crush on a celebrity, and then you _meet him_ and make yourself look like an idiot because you have absolutely no control over what you say and how you say it, and your best friend starts hanging out with him because he really hates you, and then your crush is actually _really nice_ and gets you _tea_ , but then then your dog attacks his dogs and then you’re just, oh god, _saying things_ that you can’t stop because you’re a complete and utter _fool_?”

Viktor tilted his head. “I can’t say I have.”

Yuuri ducked his. “Right. Um.”

“But you like poodles,” Viktor said, and beamed radiantly when Yuuri looked up at him sharply. “And you have a cute one.” Vicchan whuffed from Yuuri’s arms in agreement, and Yuuri covered his cheek with one hand, looking flustered. With an easy shrug, Viktor continued, “You’re cute and funny, you say the sweetest things, you never fail to surprise me even if it’s with your dog, and I like you. Do you want me to continue?”

“No! I mean-- Maybe we should, um, find the puppies?” Yuuri said, peeking mortified through his fingers at Viktor before hurrying through the gate. With a shrug, Viktor followed closely behind, hefting the box higher and stepping down the way he saw the runaways flee.

The park was lovely, especially for one in the middle of the city, boasting luscious greens and neatly trimmed bushes on either side of a well-worn path. Little copses of trees broke the open fields, leaving plenty of space for two mischievous, freedom-seeking puppies to play hide and seek. Finding those two might be harder than Viktor thought. “Do you normally walk Vicchan here?” Viktor asked, taking in the scenery. “It’s nice.”

“Sometimes.” Reaching back to pet his poodle on the head, Yuuri looked around, and peered in one of the bushes nearby. “It’s quiet, mostly, this time of the day. Good for thinking.” He smiled at Viktor, loose and easy. “Madame Baranovskaya can be tough, and it’s nice to unwind.”

At her name, Viktor clutched the box closer to him, peeking left and right to make sure that Yuuri hadn’t unintentionally summoned the devil. “Why do you work for her?”

The question had, unwittingly, caused a deep flush to creep across Yuuri’s face. “Actually,” he said, and mumbled something entirely incoherent.

“What?”

“I said, I transferred over because of you. I was, um. Artistic director at _Lohengrin_ , the small fashion website, a few years ago? But, um. It went down. And you know, _Stammi Vicino_ was advertising, and I thought…”

“ _Yuuri_ ,” Viktor squealed, immediately delighted. “Did you join us because of _me_?” In response, Yuuri’s mouth open and closed in rapid succession, but couldn’t quite seem to comprehend the concept of _words_ . “ _Yuuri!_ ”

“I thought it’d be a good opportunity,” Yuuri mumbled.

“You should show me your work!” Viktor said, enthused. “And we can make you my artistic assistant!”

“Did you mean junior art director?” Yuuri whispered, looking a little shell-shocked.

Viktor dismissed his concerns with a wave. “No, no, you have to be my artistic assistant. I’ll make it a position just for you. You were artistic director? It’s a _travesty_ that you’re just a personal assistant to…” _Lilia_ , Viktor remembered, and his heart sank at the same time he realized… “You wanted to work with me but you got the poodle killer instead,” he whispered.

“What?”

“That’s fine,” Viktor said, renewing his determination. “I can promote you. We can do _something_. I won’t let her touch you or these dogs.” His arms tightened around the box again, and Yuuri blinked at him.

“What were you doing with those poodles?” His voice dropped, curious. “Were they… Are they yours?”

“No,” Viktor said, gazing through the flap at the three pups, who blinked at him innocently. One of them licked its nose, seemingly pleased with itself. “I found them outside the office. They’re not safe there so I was taking them home until I can find them a nice place far away from here.”

“Couldn’t you take them to work?” Yuuri asked, slipping Vicchan back into position as he followed. The poodle huffed, resting its chin on Yuuri’s shoulder to stare forlornly at the box. “They’re sweet, and I think the others would love them. Destress day?”

Viktor turned slowly, feeling his expression morph into one of horror. “Yuuri,” he said slowly. “Don’t you know how unsafe poodles are in our office right now?”

Tipping his head to the side, Yuuri gave him a curious look. “What do you mean?”

“I mean,” Viktor said passionately, “That the _poodles_ are a _target_ , and if we don’t keep them away from the evilest of evils, they’re going to _lose their fur_ and _die_ from _cold_.” He would’ve thrown his arms out at his own declaration, but the box kept him less theatrical than he’d like; the puppies inside still yelped a protest when he jiggled them a little too aggressively. Yuuri gave them a look of concern. “We can’t let that happen, Yuuri! Not if you like poodles, too.”

“Viktor,” Yuuri said. “It’s the middle of summer.”

“So?”

“So, winter won’t be a while, and why would the poodles lose their coats?”

“Dogs need their fur,” Viktor said firmly, following a path to a little copse of trees. “And their skin. Their skin is also very important.”

Frowning at him, Yuuri said, “I’m not denying that, I just--”

A cacophony of high pitched barks and an aggressive hissing noise tore their attention towards a peculiarly shaped tree. Immediately, Viktor’s eyes sought the pair of trembling puppies high up in the branches, tails between their legs as they faced off a large, fluffy tabby cat with a notched ear and a scar over one eye. The dark brown pup barked twice in a pitiful attempt to chase the cat away before backing up, paws skittering on the branch as though he were on ice. The other one yipped in fear, cowering against the main trunk, not even bothering to try.

Viktor’s heart dropped like a stone.

“Is that them?” Yuuri asked, his voice hushed in fear. “How are we going to get them down?”

“Let me,” Viktor said determinedly. The box exchanged hands, and Vicchan whined quietly as Viktor rolled up his sleeves with a grim expression.

He flexed his hands, staring up at the branches. It had been a few years since he last climbed a tree - about fifteen, to be exact. Viktor distantly recalled his twelve-year-old body scrambling up the tree in his backyard all the way back in St. Petersburg. A simpler time, he reflected, eyeing the branches cautiously. Nobody had been looking to replace Viktor then.

“Be careful,” Yuuri said, concern trembling in his voice as Viktor bent his knees. Viktor tossed him a tight smile and leaped for the first branch. For a moment, as he hung from his fingertips, his shoulders protesting, Viktor thought that _maybe_ he ought to start visiting the gym again.

The branch let out an ominous creak while Viktor struggled to find a foothold.

Then, as though it couldn’t find in itself to give another fuck, it splintered with an almighty crack, tumbling after him to the ground.

“ _Viktor_!”

Somewhere overhead, the trapped puppies were letting out tiny, high-pitched squeaks of distress in tandem with the tomcat’s yowl and Vicchan’s sharp barks. “Ow,” Viktor said, blinking into the dappled sunlight. Yuuri’s face appeared in his vision, and he found himself smiling at him. “Hi there.”

“You idiot. You hit your head pretty hard,” Yuuri said worriedly. His thumb brushes lightly over Viktor’s eyelids as he checks his pupils. “Do you know where you are?”

“Heaven?” Viktor suggested, still smiling dopily up at him. “Where are your wings?”

Yuuri blushed. “Don’t be silly.” He had Viktor track the movement of his finger from side to side. “I should get you to the hospital,” he fretted, wringing his hands over the box of scuffling puppies.

Viktor blinked at him. “Yuuri,” he said seriously, taking the other man’s hand before Yuuri can sit him up. “Listen. Listen. We can’t leave any puppy behind.”

“Well, the puppies can wait while--”

There’s a sharp yowl and one of the puppies started barking in a panic. Viktor and Yuuri’s eyes snapped upwards to them, at the cat whose claws were extended and lashing out in slow motion at one of the puppies - who tipped over the side of the branch with a startled yelp, whose little paws scrabbled for purchase on the branch, who tumbled over the side like words from Yuuri’s stammering lips.

The puppy fell.

Two things happened at once.

One - Viktor’s heart stopped. He saw Makkachin’s sad furry face in his mind’s eye, watching him accusatorily as he tried to go about his day like normal. He saw Lilia sweeping into his apartment, declaring him unfit for the poodle, that she could now take possession of his beloved pet - he saw Makkachin’s pelt draped around Lilia’s shoulders as she glided down the red carpet for their magazine launch, the new and permanent art director of _Stammi Vicino New York_ , with Viktor shunted hastily to the side.

Two - Yuuri dove.

He launched himself parallel to the ground, hands outstretched, in a feat of pure athleticism, casting a shadow over Viktor’s head as his body went flying past. The puppy landed in his grasp as Yuuri tucked his shoulder in, flipping over in midair to skid sideways along the dirt on landing.

“Wow! Amazing!”

Wincing, Yuuri held the puppy firmly, and let out another little _oof_ as the second pup decided to join his brother on Yuuri’s chest, snuggling eagerly into his warmth with a tail that went a mile a minute. Viktor scooted closer, picking up the second puppy, who gave him a look of utter betrayal that Viktor would pull him away from the _poodle-loving_ assistant.

“Wow,” Viktor said again, beaming down at Yuuri, who pushed himself up slowly with a grimace. “Are you okay? No you’re not, you’re coming back to my apartment to get ice! And to get better. You need to take care of yourself, Yuuri! Stray cats are _evil_ . They spread rabies just by _looking_ at someone.”

“That’s not,” Yuuri started, then sighed. “Yeah, okay.”

Which was how they found themselves in Viktor’s pristine apartment, with Makkachin and Vicchan curled up around each other on Viktor’s couch. The puppies tucked close to both dogs, having dropped off the moment Viktor let them out of the box after all that excitement.

Viktor slid a pack of ice across his island counter at Yuuri, who was watching the dogs with a tiny smile on his pretty face. “They’re very sweet, aren’t they?” Yuuri asked, absently pressing the pack against his arm. He flinched. “It’s cold,” he explained at Viktor’s concerned look.

“I can get you a towel to wrap around it,” Viktor offered, already pushing himself up to check his cabinets. He should have a spare towel somewhere.

“No, don’t worry, I’ll just, um, my shirt…”

“Don’t get it wet now,” Viktor chirped, tugging a tea cosy from a kitchen drawer and holding it up. With a frown, he stuffed it back in and rummaged around for a second before triumphantly pulling a fresh rag from the pile he’s never touched since moving in. “Aha! Here you go! Do you want something to drink?”

“Thanks. Um. Maybe some tea? Without jam?”

“ _Yuuri,_ ” Viktor said, affecting scandal. “That’s the best part!”

Yuuri ducked his head, but not before Viktor spotted the tiny smile playing on the edges of his mouth. “What were you doing with those puppies in a box? They would’ve been safer in a cage.”

“I found them outside work,” Viktor said with a shrug. “Lilia ordered them.”

“ _Lilia_ ordered--”

“Yuuri.” Viktor leaned across the breakfast counter with a serious expression. Yuuri curled up like a fox bagel, peering at Viktor through his bangs. “Yuuri, you have to stop bringing Vicchan into work.”

“What? Why?”

“Yuuri,” Viktor said with a sigh. “I know this is… you probably won’t believe me, but, Yuuri, Lilia wants Vicchan.”

“What?” Yuuri blinked rapidly at him. “ _Vicchan_?” His wide-eyed gaze settled on his pet, who wagged his tail once in response to his name before continuing to doze. “But… _why_?”

“Well, not just Vicchan,” Viktor admitted. “Makkachin too, and those puppies, and… and all the poodles in New York. As for why…” His tone soured. “We never know what the evil think, but I suspect she’s trying to make a line of poodle furs for her business. She doesn’t just take _jobs_ \--”

“ _Poodle fur_ \--”

“Didn’t she call you into her office to pet Vicchan? Didn’t that seem suspicious to you?”

“Well, it was weird, but I thought she was just--”

“ _You have to stop bringing Vicchan to work_ ,” Viktor said firmly. “Yuuri, Lilia is Cruella deVille and she _wants_ him. And Makka. And those puppies. None of them are safe. I made my dog-sitter walk Makka in a different park randomly every day now.”

Yuuri smiled. “If she’s Cruella, does that make you Roger?”

“I’m not joking,” Viktor insisted sharply. Yuuri raised both hands in defense. Makkachin, who’s tumbled off the couch to nose hopefully at Yuuri’s hands, whines.

“I just don’t think Lilia would do that. She really likes dogs - she has all these pictures on her desk, and she always sneaks Vicchan a treat in the morning when she thinks I don’t know--”

“She’s trying to fatten him up for slaughter,” Viktor insisted.

“Well.” Yuuri stroked Makkachin’s pelt thoughtfully. “How about proof?”

 

“This isn’t a good idea,” Yuuri whispered, nervous in the way he’s trying to look inconspicuous.

“It was _your_ idea,” Viktor reminded him, just as quietly, as the elevator dings to a stop on their floor. _Stammi Vicino_ ’s New York headquarters were mostly empty at this time, with only a one intern yawning over a stack of papers in the corner. “Come on, this way.”

He led them out, affecting casualness with hands in his trench coat, wishing he had a cigar and a bowler hat to finish the look. Yuuri jogged a little alongside him to keep up. None of the interns working overtime paid either of them any mind, too busy slumping over a steaming mug of coffee or doing some task or other. Either way, Viktor gave the office a cursory glance around before stepping into Lilia’s office.

“Okay,” Viktor said, hushed, “I’ll look in her desk. You keep a lookout.” Yuuri nodded, chewing his bottom lip nervously.

“Be careful,” Yuuri warned when Viktor crouched behind the desk, hurriedly yanking drawers open. Old magazines, paperwork, folders, more paperwork…

“There’s nothing here,” Viktor hissed, ready to tear his hair out.

“What about the trash can?” Yuuri suggested. “She tosses out old drawings sometimes.”

Viktor perked up. “Good idea!” Then, he eyed the trash warily. “Uh.”

“It’s just papers, Viktor.”

“Yeah, I _guess._ ” He sighed, getting reluctantly to his knees to pick delicately through the crumpled pieces. Paperwork, post-its…

“Aha!”

“Did you find something?”

It was a sketch, mostly scribbled out, of a sleek fur coat design. Viktor held the paper up to the light and-- _yes_ , in the corner, it said--

“Poodle fur,” he said softly.

Yuuri’s face was pale, worried, when Viktor met his eyes. “Oh no. What are we-- _Viktor_ \--”

“Hey! What the fuck, get out of my way, idiot. Don’t look at me like that, not my fault Viktor decided to skip off today,” an angry voice snapped down the hall outside.

Oh no.

_Yurio_.

Viktor’s eyes widened, and Yuuri hissed, “Under the table.”

He dove under a moment before he heard the door swing open and Yuuri said, “Yurio! I didn’t… um. What are you doing here?”

“What the hell, Katsudon,” Yurio said flatly. “Get out.”

“I… I was just…” Yuuri stammered.

“Fuck, were you crying in the bathroom _again_? All fucking day?”

“Um-- _No,_ actually, I--”

“Jesus Christ, Katsudon. Get out, I don’t need--”

“Lilia told me to bring her the Book tonight,” Yuuri blurted.

Silence.

Viktor held his breath.

“The Book,” Yurio said slowly. “She wants _you._  To bring her the Book.”

“... Yes,” Yuuri said meekly.

“And that’s why you were crying in the fucking bathroom--”

“I _wasn’t_ \--”

“Whatever,” Yurio said. Peeking through the tiny slat behind the desk, Viktor caught the flash of Yurio’s grin again, large and vicious. “Have fucking fun, Katsudon. _You_ can play lapdog.”

He left with a cackle, and Viktor crawled carefully out from under the desk.

“The Book?” he asked quietly, raising an eyebrow at a now-blushing Yuuri. “Should I ask?”

“It’s the book she keeps all her ideas in,” Yuuri explained, just as quietly.

Ideas. For the spread, this year, ideas that Viktor lacked, and _maybe_ it was a stupid idea but _maybe…_ He said, almost eagerly, “Can I see?”

“No!”

The vehemence in Yuuri’s voice took Viktor aback, snapping out of his momentary lapse of judgement, and he blinked at the mortified Yuuri. “Okay, I won’t see,” Viktor said cautiously, holding out both his hands as though Yuuri were poised to attack at any moment. “But why?”

Yuuri covered his face, seemingly embarrassed by his own outburst. The red flush had spread all the way down his neck, like a ripening tomato. Curiously, Viktor cocked his head to the side with a sinking feeling in his stomach, wondering what brought _this_ on. Maybe Yuuri was sick of him already - he _knows_ he can be too much sometimes, okay, and Yuuri’s sweet to put up with him and to be _embarrassed_ that he can’t handle Viktor anymore. Or maybe Yuuri knew what went through his head and _yes fine_ that was absolutely a low moment, but he can’t possibly--

“Nothing,” Yuuri said, taking a deep breath. He peeked at Viktor through his fingers, nerves and determination intermixing in his eyes, and mumbled, “I’ll see you tomorrow, Viktor.”

 

Viktor decides that Yuuri hates him. Viktor kinds of hates himself now, too.

He should call. Explain what he really meant, that he’d never _ever_ do such a thing like that, it was just a stupid thought, and please don’t hate him, and would Yuuri go out on a date with him?

Yeah.

He should call Yuuri.

 

Viktor should have gotten Yuuri’s number, _fuck_.

 

“Yuuri hates me,” Viktor moaned into Makkachin’s fur, sprawled out on the rug in his living room. His cell phone remained tossed to the side, useless in his search for the beautiful poodle-loving assistant that he should have taken out on a proper date instead of dragging him into this whole mess and then fucking up everything on his own. If they’d been on a date he could have _at least_ begged for a second one.

Viktor was an idiot.

Flopped on his side to allow Viktor cuddles, Makkachin nosed at him curiously and licked his cheek, pink tongue raspy against his skin. Viktor scrunched up his face but allowed it. “I’m such an idiot,” he told Makka, who beat his tail twice on the ground in response. “Your daddy’s an idiot.”

Makkachin whined.

“I really liked him, you know? You could’ve had two dads,” Viktor said miserably. “And a brother.” Though, maybe Makkachin would have one anyway, and five unwitting children. He turned over to watch Vicchan dancing around with the poodle puppies from earlier, his floppy ears pricked with easy happiness.

_That’s_ how much Yuuri hated him: to leave his adorable Vicchan here, with Viktor.

God.

The doorbell went.

Vicchan went stock still, then barreled towards the entrance with a series of happy little yips, with five poodle puppies tripping over themselves to follow. Viktor blinked as Makkachin shook him off heartlessly, trotting off to join his new family by the door. Seven tails went a mile a minute as the poodles crowded the entrance.

The doorbell went again, and Viktor rolled to his feet with a groan. “Coming,” he called, and shooed the puppies away to get the door open. “Hi, sorry, I was just--” Viktor started, then stared.

Yuuri went red. “What?”

“Hi,” Viktor said, helplessly. “Wow. You’re here.”

“I… sorry, I left Vicchan here, and, um, Lilia had a lot to say…” Then something seemed to snap into him, and with a gasp he gave a deep bow, parallel to the floor. “Thank you for looking after Vicchan while I was gone!”

“He looked after the puppies,” Viktor said, suddenly very aware that he had dog slobber on his face and poodle fur all over his rumpled silk shirt. He tugged at his sleeves, discreetly trying to wipe his face clean. He admitted, mostly against his will, “I thought you hated me.”

“What?” Yuuri said again, staring at him. His eyes were very big and brown behind his glasses. “Why?”

“You wouldn’t talk to me anymore,” Viktor said. “So I thought, you know, I was annoying you.” He shrugged one shoulder and mumbled, “That’s okay, everyone gets that sometime, I just. Really liked you.”

Yuuri gaped at him goldfish-like. He said, “Viktor, what? You’re _Viktor Nikiforov_ \-- you’ve been my fashion idol since I was twelve -- I have forty-seven posters of you in my bedroom!” His words might as well have been air bubbles escaping his mouth for all the sense they were making just then -- it was Viktor’s turn to gape at him, but before he can respond Yuuri barreled on, looking as though he’d quite like the ground to swallow him whole: “The only reason I’m here at all is because of you-- You inspire me! I designed my first spread for you! I _made an outfit_ for you! Why would you… why would you think _I_ hated you?” Then, after a beat, he said, in a tone even more bewildered than before, “Why would _you_ really like _me_? _I_ really like _you_!”

“I really like you more,” Viktor said, feeling somewhat like spring just bloomed in his chest.

“Well _I_ really liked you since I was--”

A door down the hallway banged open, and someone shrieked, “It’s _not_ a competition, you can both like each other, for the love of _fuck_ , can you talk about your crushes _inside_?”

Yuuri went bright red, and Viktor felt a smile spread over his face from cheek to cheek. Yuuri mumbled, “We can both like each other, right?”

“Right,” Viktor said, beaming. “You designed an outfit for me?”

Yuuri flushed, ducking his head. “Um.”

“Did it have blue roses?”

“Cherry blossoms,” Yuuri mumbled.

“Cherry blossoms,” Viktor said, sighing happily, then blinked. _Cherry blossoms._

“Viktor,” Yuuri said softly, startling him out of his thoughts with a gentle touch to his elbow. “What are we going to do with Lilia? She can’t… you’re pitching the spreads tomorrow, right? And her, too? We can’t let her win. What are you going to do?”

Viktor looked down at him, and beamed. “Cherry blossoms.”

 

Sipping a drink from his corner, Viktor watched as the workroom tipped over into drunken joy, drinks spilling over the once-hectic counters. He made a mental note to get one of the interns to clean it up before the day’s end, though, he thinks, eyeing Leo as he clambered up on the table to rip off his shirt with a whoop, that could be a struggle on its own.

Two weeks after his second unofficial date with Yuuri, the office was celebrating the Spring issue’s release with a party with shitty pop music and alcohol abound. Viktor admitted quietly that Phichit had good taste - in alcohol and decorations, though he still maintained that papering all the tables with printouts from the spread was too much.

He’d seen too many of those, recently.

Yakov came to stand beside him, and Viktor glanced over to see him watching Leo with his trademark scowl. “Hi, Yakov.”

“What’s _that_ kid’s name?”

“Don’t fire him, Yakov,” Viktor chided. “He’s the reason we didn’t have a crisis with the publisher this year.”

“Hm.” Yakov folded his arms, scowling at the crowd for a long moment. “So, you did it. Found the perfect theme.”

Smiling to himself - a little smugly, because he deserved it - Viktor took a sip of champagne and said, offhand, “I told you I would.”

Yakov grunted, unimpressed. “‘Cherry blossoms’, huh?”

From the crowd, a bright laugh rang loud, and Viktor let his gaze drift towards its source. Yuuri caught his eye and smiled, brilliant and shy all at once. “I felt inspired.” Phichit tugged on Yuuri’s arm, tearing his attention back to the row of shots on the table in front of him.

“Some might say your emphasis on Japanese traditions was heavy handed.”

Viktor shrugged. “It surprised everyone, didn’t it?”

“That it did,” Yakov said with a sigh. One of his hands clapped Viktor on the shoulder. “Good job, Vitya.”

Viktor gave him a small smile. “Glad you didn’t actually fire me now, aren’t you?” he said-- teasingly. Because he’s over that. Mostly. He won, didn’t he?

“What?” Yakov frowned at him. “I never planned on firing you.”

“Yes you were. You hired the poodle killer.”

“What,” Lilia said from next to him. “Poodle killer?”

Shit. “Uh.” Viktor scratched the back of his neck sheepishly. “Um, hi, Madame Baranovskaya.”

Frowning at him briefly, Lilia turned to Yakov. “Yasha, Yuri called, said his grandpa wanted to talk to you. I think Nikolai wants to know if we’re getting back together and if he needs to prepare the bunkers.”

“What,” Viktor said.

Yakov sighed. “Tell my brother I’ll call back later.”

“Now, Yasha. Yuri won’t stop unless you pick up, you know that.”

“You said you weren’t married,” Viktor said, numbly. Then, “ _Yuri_ is your nephew?”

“We’re not,” Lilia said tersely.

“ _Grand-_ nephew,” Yakov said. To Lilia, he said, “Fine. I’ll call him.”

“ _Now_ ,” Lilia said. Grumbling, Yakov slunk off like a chided dog, and Viktor turned his dumbstruck gaze on Lilia.

“This explains so much,” he breathed, feeling himself slump bonelessly against the wall. Yuri, the grand-nephew of Yakov Feltsman and Lilia Baranovskaya. No wonder the kid was perpetually angry. Hell, he’d be on edge all day if they were _his_ grand-anythings.

Viktor needed a drink after all those revelations. Maybe two. Or three. Three sounds good. He reached out to snag the glasses from the table next to him.

“Did you call me a poodle-killer?”

Oh, right.

Viktor looked up at Lilia, wide-eyed. The cold expression in her eyes was enough to apparently chase all moisture from his tongue; his throat felt a lot drier than it had been two seconds ago. He swallowed a gulp of champagne. It didn’t help. “Um.”

“You know,” Lilia said slowly, “Yakov said you’d oppose me quite harshly, but I’ve been hearing some… _rumors_ around the office lately.”

“Oh?” Viktor said weakly. Another glass, down his throat.

“I would like you to know,” Lilia Baranovskaya said, turning her nose up like she’d just smelled something bad, “two things. One - I was never meant to design another spread. I was your, ah, encouragement, to get you moving along, as Yakov said. And two, no matter my perceptions of you or anyone else, I would not _kill a dog_ for its pelt, even if I believe their owners to be lazy and incompetent. Those damned animal rights people won’t let me even if I wanted to.”

Viktor blinked.

“My brand is strictly synthetic furs now.”

“Oh.”

“Besides,” Lilia said, sniffing. “I like poodles.”

With that, she swept across the floor after Yakov, leaving Viktor to stare after her dumbly. Shaking his head, he reached out to add two more champagne glasses to his bloodstream. That conversation was definitely better with alcohol. As he threw the second glass back, a gentle hand landed on his arm.

Viktor looked down.

Yuuri smiled up at him, loose and easy from the alcohol. “Hi,” he breathed, winding his arms around Viktor’s neck. Viktor slid his arms around Yuuri’s waist in return, breathing him in. He smelled sweet, like the champagne leaving a buzz under his skin.

“Hi,” Viktor said back, beaming. “Good news. The devil’s not going to kill poodles. She likes them.”

“Yay,” Yuuri said, nuzzling into his neck. “Dance with me?”

Viktor buried his face into Yuuri’s hair and let himself be pulled out into the middle of the room. He promised, “Forever.”

**Author's Note:**

> I don't normally do romantic comedy but somehow this called to me. If you spot mistakes, let me know because this is not beta'd whatsoever. <3
> 
> I'm on tumblr: jxkaste.tumblr.com


End file.
